Save Me (Again)
by tea-pyon
Summary: Hermione and Draco retake years at Hogwarts to make up for past time. Draco hasn't changed, and neither has Hermione. But what is to come when Draco finally takes it too far? Dramione future-fic. Hermione might be a bit OOC
1. Chapter 1

"Why don't you just give it up, _Mudblood_?" Draco sneers at the pitifully crying Hermione—_Hermy_, he snickered to himself—as she lunges at him yet another time in frustration. She snarls menacingly, tears crawling down her cheeks, eyes a rubbed tint of red, cheeks flushed in absolute desperation. She wasn't even bothering with her wand, just those puny fists flailing uselessly at his face. As for his wand, well, it had recently set fire to her loaded book bag (a quick flick and triumphant "Incendio!"), setting ablaze two weeks of homework and just about 100 Galleons worth of textbooks and other miscellaneous stuff. Her jaw had dropped, and started quivering, before blind rage took over her body, and Draco found himself dodging badly aimed attacks. They were both retaking their years at Hogwarts, Hermione for missing her last year of "Really important information, I'm sure!"—and Draco for, well, being a Death Eater. Harry and Ron had already given up, choosing to live lives with their new family, so it was just them two.

A year had passed since Voldemort's extinguishment, yet neither of them had changed. Hermione was still memorizing books word for word, and Draco was still picking on half-bloods and being Draco. He especially terrorized Hermione, she being the only one from the "gang" that stayed in Hogwarts. Although the new Headmaster (McGona_gag_) had set in a rule that no one was to be discriminated because of their blood, Draco still picked on the Mudbloods. He had targeted Hermione for the past two months, small things, like spray painting her binder, mixing up her shampoos, and drugging her food, but she had not budged one bit. But this had been the last straw. Draco smirked. _Sweet, sweet, victory._

Hermione's mind was frantically yelling at her to calm down—this was just Draco; don't get yourself detention over a stupid prank. But it was her precious _work_, time she could have spent partying, and it was all gone. After her latest so-called kick had failed to land a shot between his legs, her body deflated, all energy sucked out of her like a vacuum. Physically, she was very weak. She had neither stamina nor power, but her strategies were extraordinarily brilliant. Her voice shook when she spoke, not with fear, but with pure, unrestrained, _anger_.

"Malfoy. Dor-a-co. Mal-foy." She chanted ominously, enunciating every syllable like a curse. A mad smile split across her face, and Hermione suddenly became frighteningly similar to the reflection in the Horcrux.

"Oh, you pitiful being." She cooed softly, tracing imaginary circles on the ground. Draco blinked. Wasn't she about to hex him? Strangely, this seemed scarier than any hex. He had never seen Hermione so calm, so _calculated_.

"How should I do this, Draco Malfoy? What hex should I use? Or should I jinx you? Aren't they the same thing? Silly me, I should know this. Aren't you a fabulous student too, Draco Malfoy? Tell me, Draco Malfoy, how should I hurt you? Or maybe, I could drug you to fall asleep in class—you've done that to me before, haven't you? Oh, and I could also spray paint _your_ books. How would you like a taste of your own medicine, Draco Malfoy? You, of course, wouldn't suspect a thing, you ignorant fool, because why would anyone, least of all _you_, know how _I _feel about this? Silly me, I shouldn't have—have—d-d-do—"Hermione sags, eyes wide, mouth slack. Her sudden need to taste Draco's downfall had vanished, leaving her empty and confused. She was Hermione Granger, top student, best witch in the entire school. She had never once been wrong about most things, and was always prideful, intelligent, and controlled. Never once had she lost it like this, hungering for revenge. Even her younger self had only lost control once, to the same person. That adrenaline rush when she punched Draco was similar to the feeling she had just experienced—crazy, rebellious, and it felt _so good_. What had she been thinking? Perhaps this was how Draco felt when he picked on her.

Draco stood there, stunned. Hermione—the Mudblood—had turned into a demon. It was quick, but there was a flash of insane bloodlust in her eyes when she had begun to rant. He was the first to recover. Attempting at a sneer, he began to speak again.

"Is that all you got? Huh, silly Mudblood? Are you that _pathetic_ you can't even seem dangerous? Hah, to think that I waste my time on y-" His eyes find hers, her sad, lonely, eyes. His voice crackles and dies, like a fire on an eerily stormy night. Suddenly his chest constricts, and his throat closes up. He can't breathe, and his head is spinning spinnin g—

_"Get back here you wench!" A drunken man stumbles out of a large house, drink in hand, fist raised. A young girl with bushy red-brown hair scrambles over her feet, mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. Her arms swung in a surprisingly familiar way, wild and desperate. Large hazel eyes brimmed with tears darted around in search for something—anything to defend herself with. The man is wavering, but his anger is steady. _

_"Pathetic girl! Are you _trying_ to defy your father? Don't even think about it!" He snarls, words dripping with alcoholic venom. The girl shakes her head, the bush of hair slapping her strangely dry cheeks. Not a single tear had dropped from her eyes. The man's large body looms over the girl's small frame ominously. The girl drops to the ground, hands over her ears, forehead touched to the cold, hard, gravel. Her mouth gapes and freezes in a wide O, and a tiny noise escapes. _

_"Huh? What'dya say, punk? Did you have permission to speak? I think _not!_ Say that again! I. Dare. You." The man shouts in her face, causing her to shake uncontrollably. _

_"G-g-go a-a-aw-way." She squeaks. He closes in, eyes narrowing to slits. _

_"I-I sa-said—" His hand darts out, clenching around her frail neck. Her doll-like head bobbles violently back and forth as he vents out his anger. Finally, a tear slides down her pale cheeks, and her reserved dams finally break. _

_"I SAID, GO AWAY!" She shrieks, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. Her eyes flare a bright scarlet hue, and the man suddenly stops advancing. His knees buckle, and a loud thud is heard as his body collapses. _

_He doesn't get up. _

Draco felt as though he had been socked in the gut. A nervous, weakening, feeling had overcome him, the same blood-curdling feeling that came when he had been in the Death Eaters. A cold sweat broke out over his face. _Her eyes were so desperate_. He steals a glance at Hermione, and he freezes, a new kind of terror rooting deep inside him. This time, it was not the terror that rooted you in place—no, this kind of terror told him to flee as fast as he could.

Her eyes are a piercing red.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hullo! Chapter 2 up! I've been having this issue where I have this idea in my head and JUST CAN'T GET IT OUT UNTIL I WRITE IT DOWN!**

**so here we are~ I'll try to fit in chappies ASAP-or i might just pull all nighters xD**

**Mrs. Rowling owns all HP characters and plotline. if i owned them, i'd be hella famous. **

Hermione cannot feel her legs. Or her arms, for that matter. Hell, she can't feel her whole damn body. All she remembers is getting up from the ground,

then everything is fuzzy. She knows she's moving. It's a solid, real, fact—something she holds on to. Her life has always been full of lies and deceit.

Growing up with Harry Potter and the Weasley family has taught her more about betrayal than needs to be said. The only feeling that she can distinctly

categorize is raw fury, burning and coursing through her bones and limbs. Underneath that lies a sort of relief, like the calm after a storm. She is finally

getting long deserved revenge on the man that had tortured her since childhood, ripped apart her family. The bastard was trembling in front of her

pathetically, and she could feel the sheer amount of power she held within the simple magic stick she held in her hands. But suddenly, she became

confused. Why did her step-father have blond hair, not black? And why were his eyes this sharp blue, not those misleading hazel ones she had grown to

fear? He looked a bit like a different person...someone she knew from somewhere...a place where she learned to cast these powerful spells-

Hogwarts.

Her home.

The place she had made friends,

aced the tests as star student Hermione,

and was constantly tormented by a pure-blood named Draco Malfoy-

Hermione's vision suddenly cleared. The person in front of her-no, it wasn't her cursed step-father. He was already dead. He would never know of

her ever again. This person-he had a chance of redemption. He had been a stellar student, just as she, even though not as kind. She vaguely felt her

mouth moving in an attempt to form a curse.

"_Crucio!"_ She shrieked. Once the curse was spoken, Malfoy's eyes widened, his limbs slacked, and his mouth opened in an ear-piercing scream.

Tiny cuts appeared repeatedly on his pale white skin, making it flush with the red hue of blood. Hermione started to smile maliciously, but she forced

herself to regain control. Her arm seemed to be moving on its own, slashing with her wand, making more cuts in his skin. Using her other arm, she

clutched her wand and forced it down, releasing the spell. Malfoy immediately fell upon the hard marble ground, twitching ever so slightly. His chest

hitched, and was still. It no longer rose up and down laboriously to take in painstaking breaths. Draco Malfoy lay still.

He couldn't move. Every second that passed by felt like another hour stuck in a burning house-his every attempt at a breath resulted in fire

erupting in his chest, and spreading to every limb that he could still feel. The Cruciatus Curse had not hurt this much the last time it had been cast on

him. This time, it felt as if a thousand needles pricked every nerve in his body, rendering him defenseless and unable to move. Then the needles had

turned into sharp daggers, piercing straight through his bone and embedding itself deep within his flesh. He lay there, barely conscious, and unwilling

to take another breath, for fear he would kill himself. Black-no, white-he couldn't tell the difference- stars twinkled in his vision. Granger was doubling

and tripling, her form shuddering every time he blinked. Or maybe that was just her body shaking. And-were those tears? He could not distinguish

between light and dark, so how could he feel any form of wetness? Perhaps he was just hallucinating. His vision flashed white-black one more time,

then his resolve vanished.

* * *

"Professor Mcgonagall! Professor Mcgonagall! PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL! ANYBODY! PLEASE!" Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs into the

barren corridors. Immediately, Professor Flitwick, who had currently been teaching, rushed out to see what the matter was, hat and glasses slightly

askew. What he saw shocked the charms out of his wand. Hermione Granger, ace student, was holding Draco Malfoy in her arms, covered in blood. He

squeaked in horror, and frantically sent a message to Minerva. It took too long for the Headmistress to arrive at the scene, even though she had run as

quickly as her old legs could carry her. Once she saw Hermione's trembling form and Draco's stilled body, she hurried them to Madame Pomphrey's.

Hermione was in a state of shock, hearing but not processing the words spoken outside of her body. All she could think about was that _she hurt Draco_

_Malfoy_. Oh, she was in _sooo_ much trouble. But never had she ever done this kind of deed before. The last time she had lost control was...when Ron had

reappeared in front of their tent to apologize. She shuddered at the thought. Hermione had never been one to hurt anyone. She had only ever hurt

Draco once, and that was because he insulted her friend, Hagrid. Never had she ever thought she was capable of such an emotionally demanding

Unforgivable Curse. Sure, she could pull off Avada Kedavra no problem, for it required no emotion whatsoever. She could use the spell in cold blood,

it was just a simple matter to whisper _Imperio!_ and force someone out of her way. But the Cruciatus Curse required immense hatred, or immense

passion. Just as Bellatrix had tortured her in the gloomy chambers of the Malfoy Manor, she had done to Malfoy in the very halls of her sacred school,

Hogwarts. It was ironic, really. It seemed to be payback for a year's worth of anguish and fear-all for the sake of Dumbledore. At more than one point

she had thought of abandoning that god forsaken quest and take the easy way out. But for the sake of Harry, and Ron, and all of the D.A she had left

at Hogwarts, she gritted her teeth and stuck with the seemingly pointless search for Horcruxes.

For years she had trained her magic to perfection, honing it for good and remembering even the most useless spells. But the price for leading a life of

good magicry, she had left behind the hidden power Hermione had unlocked as a child when she murdered her step-father without batting an eyelash.

The magic she learned at Hogwarts was nothing in the face of her true talent.

Her Dark Magic.

Never until now had some released itself from the confines of her will, possessing her with the urges to hurt, to bully, to _kill_. And now she had gotten

Malfoy on the brink of death. She barely heard Professor McGonagall asking her pointless questions (What is your name? Are you in shock? How are

you feeling? Do you need some chocolate?). She simply shrugged, only remembering to breathe in order to splutter out her name. "Her-my-oh-nee,"

She had said slowly, enunciating every syllable. What a strange name, she thought. Her-my-oh-nee. Sounded like something from the fantasy world.

Her limbs refused to move afterwards, so Madame Pomphrey let her lie down and skip the rest of her classes. Ma-dam Pom-free. She giggled

hysterically at her own little name jokes. Drey-ko Mal-foi. _Hehe_.

"Whatcha laughin' at, _Mudblood_?" A sinister croak (though not so sinister, she couldn't see how sinister a frog-like sound could be, so she laughed even

harder). Dreyko Malfoi was watching her from across the room with piercing blue eyes. She immediately sobered up, a terrible feeling of dread sinking

into her gut. His finger waved at her, as if daring her to come closer. So she did.

"Wanna know something, girlie?" He attempted to smirk, but the pain made it seem like a crooked grimace. He breathed laboriously, and she scooted a

little closer. His ragged breathing tickled her ears, resulting in another hysterical fit of giggles. Hermione's crazed hazel eyes met his pained blue ones,

and suddenly, Draco smiled. Not a real _haha_ smile, but one of malicious triumph.

"It's strange, ya know...I feel kinda...threatened..."

His lips spread wider.

"And you say _I'm _the evil one, Hermione."


	3. Chapter 3

**Suspenseful! Maybe I'll start on the REAL dramione shiz on this chappie...who knows? Stay tuned!**

**Mrs. Rowling owns all HP characters and plotline...but I wish I had a share...**

一

Chap 3

They spend the next two days in the hospital wing without speaking a single word. Hermione was still in a state of hysteria, chuckling madly at whatever it was she was thinking of. Draco stayed silent, sneaking occasional glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Finally, on the third day, they finally cracked.

Hermione was humming this tune, something from a TV show. Draco was tossing and catching a small rubber ball, completely bored out of his mind. _Why won't she say anything? It's not like she hasn't hurt me before_, he ponders.

He sits there thinking for a while (like he always is) before realizing that Hermione's twisted tune has stopped. She's staring out the window, her breath steaming up the icy glass. The snow outside—snow? Draco turns with immense pain shooting up his back to see that the grounds are now covered with a thin padding of snow. It's not much, but it's a shock to him. _Is it already December?_ He gazes, awestruck by the soft beauty of such a simple pleasure, so easily overlooked. Suddenly, a crashing noise at the far end of the wing abruptly tears his gaze from the window. Hermione is face down on the floor, arms outstretched. He darts up (the pain is _killing_ him), and hobbles over to her. His golden locks are tangled when he subconsciously runs a hand through it, like he always does in front of girls. _But this is _Granger_, _he reminds himself. _A Mudblood. A dirty, cheating, Mudblood. _

Sighing, he stoops to look upon her pathetic figure. Sprawled on the ground, he could bully her like always. But Hermione makes a bobbing motion with her head, and incoherent words streamline out of her mouth.

"What, girl? Have you gone mad?" He scoffs, completely baffled by her change of character from that obnoxiously bossy girl to this pathetic child.

"Get me outside." She mumbles. He can hear her perfectly fine, but decides to mess with her a little bit.

"What did you say? I can't hear people with their faces on the ground." He smirks.

"Outside. Snow. Get me out." She snarls, lifting her head a bit.

"I'm sorry, I'm deaf to Mudbloods. Repeat yourself, darling?"

"Get. Me. Out. Side." Her words a solid punches, smacks to his face that represent her pure hatred towards him.

"EXCUSE ME GRANGER? I DIDN'T QUITE CATCH THAT." He's this close to bursting out in laughter, but keeps his cool façade.

"I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!" She shrieks, her voice just about bursting his ears. Granger's face is red, half from frustration, half from her previous smackdown on the floor.

"_Oh, _you need to see the snow. But I'm afraid we can't—"

"DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A FLYING SHIT YOU LITTLE—"

"Shh." Draco hisses.

"NO I WON'T '_SHHH_" GET ME—"

"_Shut up!" _ Draco slaps both her cheeks, effectively silencing her. Yet he knew he was in for hell later, once she was fully healed.

"Voices." He whispers, gesturing to the door. Even though it was made of extremely thick material, he could bet her screaming ran up and down all the stairways and through the Grand Hall. Slowly, they inched back to their respective beds. However, he saw Hermione sneakily conceal her wand within her robes. Not long after he lay down, the doors burst open, revealing Crybaby Longbottom in his Professor robes. He looks at the innocently sleeping Hermione, and glances back at Draco. Longbottom's eyes narrow, and he points an accusatory finger at him.

"If I hear a _single_word from here, I'll—"

"Yea, yea, you'll kill me. I've heard enough of that from _her_." Draco jerks his head towards Hermione, who's eyebrows twitched slightly. Longbottom sends one last apprehending look towards him, then with a swish of his robes, he's gone. Hermione's eyes pop open, and her wand appears out of her robes. She has no need to say incantations anymore, and neither does he. They both know she's a better wizard than him, but he's too prideful to admit it, and she's too modest to. A frosted glass hole pops out of the window, and a cool draft tickles their noses. Hermione's eyes are full of triumph as she revels in the relaxing breeze. Strands of her hair trail behind her, fueled by the wind. Her eyes are closed, mouth parted slightly in a soft smile. Draco absolutely despises the cold. It's frigid and uninviting and annoying. He watches Hermione, slightly bored.

"You gonna go out or what? I'm not gonna stay in here, are you?" He challenges daringly, stepping closer to that blasted hole. She turns to face him, eyes slowly opening. A gust of wind lifts her hair up, its arms threading through the strands. It bellows and twirls, turning her hair into a forest of vines. Her arms are spread wide, mouth resting in a natural smile. _Since when did she have dimples? _He wonders. He sees them now, for this has been one of the few times she has smiled in his presence. _And also_…

Hermione leaps out the window gracefully, leaving behind a poof of a snow cloud. She turns back and offers a gentle hand to him. He scoffs, but takes her hand. His face is warm, despite the bitter cold.

He wonders when she's become this beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**GUYS! Please please please _pleaseeee_ review! I don't know how to write without critique! Flames are accepted, I JUST WANNA IMPROVEE..**

**anyways guess who's in a state of denial right now? *winks* AND HOW DOES HERMIONE FEEL?**

**J.K. Rowling is the rightful author of HP and everything else...except my fanfiction plot. That's MINE. But the characters are hers. **

* * *

Hermione's fingers are growing numb from the icy snow water that seeps through her gloves. The wind bites harshly at her facial features, and her lips are probably blue. She can feel Draco's eyes on her, but she doesn't mind-it's only Draco, he's probably seen her a million times the The Daily Prophet or whatever. But it's also Draco's eyes she can feel on her, and that makes it all the more awkward. Her thoughts are in a jumble right now, and she can't stop thinking about ohmygodthesnow and how long has it been since she's actually gone out like this? She flops down in the soft blanket of fluff, waving her arms almost frantically in an up down, up down pattern. It becomes half a snow angel-her legs already far too blue to move-yet she feels oddly satisfied. She spots a pile of snow on the grassy area, and immediately sets into making a snowman. Her palms gently scoop up a ball of snow, only to have it break in her hands. Scowling, Hermione tries again and again until finally, she finds the right amount of snow to scoop. She gives herself a pat of achievement, and it appears as if Draco had laughed. But of course he didn't, right? That was just her imagination-right? She sets her mind to making the perfect snowman, and her brain goes on autopilot: make snowball, roll, pile snowball 1 on snowball 2. She focuses only on the snow and it's fluffy texture.

Are you fucking serious, Granger. Draco is taken back by her serious nature. It's snow, for Merlin's sake. She looks like she wants to murder someone. Her eyebrows are furrowed together, and eyes are locked on her target: the snow. Every time she "pats" the snow down, it looks like she's smacking it apart. He almost feels sorry for it. So he swiftly scoops up a snowball, and chucks it at her head lazily. It arcs through the frigidly beautiful air, bits of snow flung off as the snowball spins rapidly. Time slows down as it begins its descent, then-

Smack.

Hermione's back turns rigid as the droplets trail down her back, like a glob of sticky ice cream melting in the sun. She slowly turns around, eyes wide.

"What the hell, Malfoy." She snarled. She scoops down to swipe at a chunk of snow, only to have it crumble in her fingers. Draco takes the time to hurl another snowball at her, this time hitting her bare neck. Her amateur snowball making took precious time away, while Draco was able to chuck two, three, four more at her. He smirked, casually tossing a snowball as if saying Bring it, Granger. A fire lit inside of her, and she slowly scooped up a snowball. He looked just about ready to hurl another at her, but in the blink of an eye, her shoulder winds, turns, and releases. Her snowball flies through the air like a missile, much unlike Draco's airy tosses. It hits him straight between the eyes, leaving a wet red mark. Hermione smirks triumphantly. Draco's leisurely smile disappears, replaced with that same grin of malice from back in the hospital. She hits him again, this time right on the cheek, and it looks as if she slapped him.

"That's how you have fun, Granger!" He shouts over the wind, and in an instant, snowballs are flying through the air. His form is flawless, always smooth in execution. She is choppy and awkward, but her projectiles never missed. It was a battle of wills. Sure, it was just a snowball fight, but their faces were illuminated with determined smiles acknowledging each other as worthy opponents. Draco was having more fun than he had the entire year, even while teasing Herm-Granger. Snowball after snowball, they competed for what felt like hours. Soon enough, Hermione collapses on her back in the snow, not caring about the coldness seeping through her thin clothes. She's panting heavily, a wide grin fixated on her face. Draco clutches his knees near her, gasping for breath.

"Is that...all you got...eh...G-" He only gets so far before he too falls face first into the inches of pillow-like snow. The ice feels good on his flushed cheeks and sweaty brow. Hermione glances over and laughs boisterously at his figure. Her laugh is unrestrained and free, very much unlike the tight voice Draco's used to hearing. Her laugh is pretty, Draco notes unconsciously. When he realizes what he just thought, he buries his burning cheeks further in the snow. A light snowball landed on his back, forcing him to turn his head towards Granger. She's smirking slightly, and for a moment, she reminds him of his mother before she turned Dark. Vibrant, fun-loving, Narcissa. Then something happened, and she was never the same. Hermione sends another ball his direction, which he catches with his fist, successfully drenching his face in powdery soft snow. Corners of his mouth tug upwards, and he instinctively frowns his mouth back down. It's been all too long since he's felt that feeling in his chest- that warm, comforting, feeling, snaking through his body like a river and filling every creak of his bones with a roaring fire. He never expected to feel that way around Hermione of all people-and he never expected it to feel so good.

* * *

Hermione feels like a sparkling white balloon, filled with giddy energy and a sort of controlled hysteria. It felt good to hurl tiny packed balls of ice at the one person who tormented her most during her years. Ironic, isn't it, she smiles bitterly. The one person who tortured me is the one who relieves my stress. No matter what, she would never accept him as on her level. He was a scumbag, a low-leveled Pureblood who held himself far too high above everyone else. His ego needed to be crushed and flattened to the ground.

But…

He certainly was fun to hit. Not to mention, it was fun to play dodgeball with him. Maybe he had a better side than what he really put on.

No, Hermione. She reminds herself. He's an ass. A cold-hearted ass. Just 'coz you vented your anger at him in the form of snowballs doesn't mean he's all goody-two-shoes. She refused to let go of that anger that had fueled her through the snowball fight. Malfoy was Malfoy, and nothing could change that. But just once, she had had her revenge-however strange of a form it came in. Her conflicted feelings towards Malfoy continued to argue with each other as her consciousness slowly began to fade. She could vaguely hear Malfoy's frantic scrambling, and barely made out his figure hovering above her. Since when did this asshole care, she thought, unable to control her freezing lips. Black-no, white-stars popped in her vision, blotting out Malfoy's desperate face. Before she completely shut down, she heard a faint whisper, as if carried on the wind.

"...mione..."

* * *

Draco rushed to the Infirmary, a half-dead Hermione sprawled across his arms. He couldn't feel her pulse through the numbing cold, but the ragged gasps confirmed that she was still breathing. Her lips had turned blue, and frost appeared on her bare fingertips. Desperately, he wrapped his snow-sodden scarf around her chest, trying to give her as much warmth as possible. He refused to call out for help-he would not stoop down to such girly tactics. They had wandered a ways from the school, yet both were too caught up in each other to even notice. Finally, Draco caught a glimpse of the cracked window they had escaped from. A thin layer of ice had sealed the hole closed, distorting his reflection. Hastily, he set Hermione aside (as carefully as he could). His frozen fingers fumbled with his wand, and he barely managed to choke out a spell.

The ice melted away with a flick of his wrist, and he scrambled inside, dragging Hermione with him. Gasping heavily, he barely managed to fling her back on the bed before collapsing next to her.


End file.
